


Unexpected

by Arnie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:04:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnie/pseuds/Arnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anderson is attacked, and the first person who finds him is Sherlock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this prompt on the Sherlockbbc_fic comm on LJ: During a case one day, Sherlock makes a throwaway comment to Anderson, this time about the state of his knees, and scathingly wonders how Donovan will take the news that his tastes are for less feminine fare. Anderson, however, doesn't fight back - he keeps his mouth shut, ducks his head and tries to pretend he isn't there, just letting Sherlock get on with whatever catty comments he feels like. This strikes everyone present as rather odd, but they're just so grateful for the peace and quiet for once that no one looks into it any further.
> 
> As it turns out, Anderson did spend last night on his knees - at knifepoint. The gang who attacked him didn't want to let that mouth to go waste.  
> ~~~  
> My story doesn't quite fit the prompt.

By the time his head cleared enough for Dan to realise he was still alive and the very worst hadn't happened, his attackers had gone, taking his wallet with them. At least they'd left him his watch; Dan supposed he should be grateful it was too cheap to be worth stealing. He staggered to his feet, grazing one hand on the wall and cutting his other on something on the ground. His knees were aching, as was his jaw. He'd...they'd... He shook his head, then regretted it as his head started pounding again. At least they hadn't...

He stopped that train of thought. Bad enough that they'd made him... He felt sick and wished he would vomit - at least that'd clear the taste from his mouth. Christ. Sally seemed to like... He'd have to ask her next time, make sure - he didn't want her feeling like this. Assuming she'd even want him once she knew...

Dan's mind shut down again, skittering away from the thought, from the memory. He bent over and spat as much as he could; maybe his saliva would wash away some of it. He'd buy some water as soon as he passed -

No, he wouldn't; they took his wallet. Shit. He was going to have to walk home - or ring the police and report a mugging and an assault. He was a crime statistic now. Ironically enough, he suspected his attackers were the same ones responsible for a string of such attacks across the city - the same ones DI Lestrade was investigating. Dan fingered the bump over his right ear, the swelling that continued across his cheekbone. That was part of their MO too; smack their target across the side of the head, shove him (or her) into the nearest alleyway while he (or she) was still dazed, take any valuables and...

Okay, so, walking... Dan got to the end of the alleyway and almost ran straight into a tall figure - the man's quick reaction as he grabbed Dan's arms and pushed him back being the only thing that saved them from colliding.

"Anderson!"

Oh, Christ, he knew that voice. Stiffening his spine, Dan glared straight into his bête noir's eyes. "I didn't think they let you out unless you had a crime to investigate - or commit!"

The pale eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping like a laser beam across Dan's face. "Did you lose consciousness?"

Realising Holmes was still holding onto his arms, Dan jerked himself free. "No." He went to shove his way past Holmes, then found himself diverted to the kerb.

"Taxi!"

One pulled up, and Holmes reached past Dan to open the door. Dan blinked as he was bundled inside, Holmes behind him, telling the cabbie, "Baker Street!" with that imperious tone in his voice.

"I'm not going to Baker Street; I'm going home!" He tried to push off the seat, and found Holmes's arm in the way, stopping him from rising.

"John can look you over. Baker Street!"

Dan saw the cabbie shrug, then the taxi set off with a jerk. "Look, I don't need -"

"You've been attacked."

Turning his head, Dan met Holmes's gaze for one horrified second. He knew. Of course he knew. He bloody well knew everything.

"You need a doctor." There was a brief pause, then Holmes asked, an odd tone in his voice, "Did they stick to their usual MO?"

Dan swallowed. "Yes." Thank God. He slumped back in his seat, trying to comfort himself that it could have been worse. They could have...but they hadn't.

There was a quiet sigh from beside him. Dan wondered whether it was relief...or disappointment. Surely even Holmes...then again, he was a sociopath, and proud of it. Who knew what he was thinking?

"You can call Lestrade from the flat, if you want." That odd tone was still in his voice - if it had been anyone else, Dan would almost have called it gentle.

Lestrade. Dan bit back a bitter laugh. He didn't want to be interviewed by his boss over this - he liked the DI, liked working with him. Even worse, Sally might be the one to take Dan's statement. He'd have to tell her what they'd done...what they'd made him do. He leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, wishing it'd stop aching long enough for him to think clearly. He'd been assaulted, and now he was stuck in a taxi with Holmes. Could his evening get any worse?

The taxi stopped and they got out, Holmes holding onto Dan's arm. He wondered whether it was for support, or if he expected Dan to take off down the street, screaming hysterically. Well, Dan might not be Sherlock bloody Holmes but he had his dignity, thank you very much. Stiffening his treacherous knees, Dan allowed himself to be pushed to the front door, then inside, then up the stairs.

John looked up as he entered, surprise, then concern on his face. "What happened?" He grabbed Dan's other arm, though Dan was pretty sure his knees were steady enough now.

"You know the criminals Lestrade's looking for? Anderson found them."

That was one way to put it, Dan thought. As Holmes and John put him on the sofa, he buried his head in his hands again. There was a brief respite, then a hand on his chin, lifting his head slightly. He opened his eyes to find John, kind, professional Doctor Watson, a penlight in his hand, on his knees at Dan's feet. Before Dan had even begun to process that image, the light was in his eyes.

"Did you lose consciousness?"

"No."

"He seemed dazed when I ran into him. Mycroft, it's Sherlock."

Who the hell was Mycroft? Dan managed a quick glance, astonished to see Holmes actually using the phone to talk, then John's hands were on his face, his fingers gently probing the swelling.

"I need footage from the CCTV cameras on Pall Mall... Tonight; the past hour... No... Well, just give me access then..." Holmes sighed, sounding as impatient as usual. "It'll be quicker if you give me access than if I have to hack into it... Of course I can... Figure it out yourself... Okay, fine."

Dan looked over again as the phone was tucked into a pocket and Holmes sat down with his back to them, then his attention was jerked back to John and the cut from the glass in the alleyway. "Ow!"

"You've got a bit of glass in here." A pair of tweezers appeared.

Dan thought they'd appeared from nowhere, or maybe John was in the habit of carrying penlights and tweezers in his pockets, then realised there was an open First Aid box by John's side. "I bet you get some use out of that."

John gave him an absent smile. "Not as much as you'd expect." He glanced up and his smile broadened. "You're looking better. I'll make you a cuppa in a minute." The minute stretched into a few minutes as John applied antiseptic cream to Dan's face and hands and put a Band Aid on the cut, then, "There, all done."

"Thanks." Dan looked away from John's sympathetic gaze, and threw a glance at Holmes's back. "I should get going."

"You'll stay the night."

Dan stared at Holmes's back. That hardly sounded like an invitation made out of concern - more like an order.

Holmes turned, as if feeling the stare and that far too observant gaze met Dan's. "Your wife's away, you'll be alone. You were attacked this evening. Your attackers stole your wallet and undoubtedly know by now that you work for the police. They also have your address. They may decide you're too much of a risk to be left alive."

As Dan tried to think up a reply, Holmes turned back to his laptop, apparently sure there was nothing else to say.

John smiled. "The sofa's comfy. I'll uh...I'll get you a spare toothbrush."

He headed off in the direction of the bathroom, and Dan followed him. "Look, could I er..."

Handing him a toothbrush that was still in its packet, John stepped to one side. "Help yourself."

Grateful beyond belief, Dan brushed his teeth, scrubbing at the inside of his mouth until all he could taste was minty toothpaste. That done, he gazed at himself in the mirror. His face, unnaturally white, stared back at him. Apart from his eyes, the only colour left in his face was the inflamed red, darkening to a bruise, that spread from just above his ear and across his cheekbone. No wonder his face hurt.

There was a quiet knock at the door. "You okay?" John asked.

No. Christ, no, he wasn't. Dan straightened. But he would be, sooner or later. He even felt grateful that he'd run into Holmes as the irritating sod was right. His attackers might return - in which case, Dan wanted to be there to help catch them. Okay, so he still looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over, but all he had to do was keep on his feet and _act_ alright. He pulled open the door. "I'm okay." It was a lie, and he knew John knew that, but John didn't dispute it.

"You must be starving too," John said, leading the way to the kitchen. "I don't suppose you've had your dinner yet."

"Uh, no. I mean, no, I haven't eaten." Dan gazed around the sitting room. Where was Holmes? The man was over six foot tall; it wasn't like you could just overlook him. "Where's um...?"

"He went out. Said he'd be back later. How about Chinese?"

Solid food sounded good - something crunchy, a definite texture. Dan avoided the thought of soup. He dug his hand into his pocket to get his wallet. Oh, heck. "Uh...they uh -" No wallet, no money. Dan blinked; he was slow tonight.

"Yeah, don't worry about it." John waved that off with one hand and handed him a menu.

~~~

"This has got marmalade on."

Dan opened his eyes at the sound of Holmes's voice. Marmalade?

"That's because it's mine."

"But I don't like marmalade."

"Feel free to make your own toast then; I'm sure you can figure out how the toaster works. Morning, Dan. Want some breakfast?"

Dan pushed back the blankets covering him and sat up. Morning? He'd only shut his eyes for five minutes to let his dinner digest. When had it got to be morning? He tried to get his brain into gear while he staggered up and off into the bathroom. He hated mornings. By the time he returned, Holmes had stopped arguing and had, presumably, managed to work the toaster. He was bending over his laptop, dripping butter while he poked at the keys. "Mycroft's changed the password," he complained.

"You couldn't expect him to leave it," John pointed out, handing a cup of tea to Dan. "Not now you've caught those guys."

Swinging around, Dan almost slopped hot tea everywhere as he stared at Holmes. "Caught?!"

Holmes straightened and smirked at him. "This morning. By now, they'll be in a holding cell."

Dan looked at his watch. It was only seven thirty.

"I got Lestrade out of bed at five o'clock." Holmes seemed quite pleased with himself.

"I bet he was happy about that," Dan said, sinking down onto the sofa. He'd been bracing himself, getting ready to tell the DI, and now... "You told them then." Wouldn't it have been better coming from him?

There was silence, then Holmes said, "No." As Dan stared up at him in shock, Holmes turned back to the laptop. "There's enough evidence to convict them as it is. You never saw their faces, and there's no DNA evidence." Dan felt his face flush red with that, but Holmes continued, "There's only the CCTV footage. They hadn't kept your wallet and since your credit and debit cards had already been cancelled, they must have disposed of those before we got there. Whether you choose to offer your testimony or not is up to you."

"My cards were cancelled?" Dan hadn't even thought about that - he should have arranged to cancel them. He realised he hadn't been thinking about much the night before.

"I cancelled them for you." The tightest of smiles made a brief appearance. "You'll receive replacements in the next few days - or whenever your bank gets around to it. You know how slow they can be."

"Thanks." Dan expected the word to stick in his throat, but it was easier than he expected to say it.

Holmes blinked, then that tiny smile appeared again. "You're welcome." He turned back to the laptop. "I don't see why Mycroft had to cancel my access. It's not like I was going to do anything."

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea what Anderson's first name is. I saw Dan used in another story, so went with that one.


End file.
